Rowaelin College radio AU
by Doodl3
Summary: Pairings: Rowan x Aelin Setting: Modern college life
1. Here it is!

I listen to the current song, sitting back in my seat. Then the phone rings and I stare at it for a moment. I know who it is, I may not know their name, but I know who it is. I pick it up after the song is done, "Would you like to make a request?"

"So… I called yesterday and the day before and you still haven't fulfilled my request." The low voice says very casually.

I clench my fist and struggle to keep the anger out of my voice as I reply, "For the last time, this is a classic rock station. We have neither the means nor the intention to play _any song from High School Musical._ "

"I know you keep saying that, but- and hear me out here- how about you play 'Fabulous'?"

"Like I said," I keep my voice even, "we literally cannot play any song from High School Musical."

"Look, man, I'm not asking you to rip out your wisdom teeth with a spork. I'm just a normal guy, listening to a respectable radio station, who desperately wants to hear 'Get'cha Head in the Game'. Is that so wrong?"

"Did… did you just quote High School Musical to ask me a question?" I ask.

The other voice is silent for a long moment before replying in a hushed whisper, "Bet on it."

I hang up the phone with a groan, switching to the usual playlist of Queen, Metallica, and Led Zeppelin. For the last two weeks this guy had been calling asking the same thing- for me to play a song from High School Musical.

His rather intimate knowledge of all of the movies and their songs was terrifying, but he'd never threatened me or demanded that I do it. It was always the same calm request, like he knew I was nanometers from throwing my comfy swivel chair out a window.

I'd miss the chair, but I'd do it.

The songs cycle through and the phone rings again. This time it's a different number- thank the radio gods. I pick it up and say, "You're listening to Rock Radio, do you have a request?" I ask.

"Yeah." The all-too-familiar voice says. I'm about to hang up when he says, "No! Hold up! " He says.

"That's another reference, isn't it?"

I can almost hear the smile in his voice, "I didn't know you knew the songs that well."

I roll my eyes. "You know this is harassment, right? Like, this call is being recorded and I can take it to a court."

"Two things. One, would you seriously take me to court over 'You are the Music in Me'?"

"Yeah." I reply.

"Right, well, apart from that, the case would almost certainly be thrown out- because, you know, no judge is going to take it seriously- and I haven't threatened or intimidated you. I've always been polite, and I'm merely asking you to play a song."

"So creepy High School Musical listener knows legal jargon." I say.

"I just stick to the stuff I know," he says.

"Is this some sort of game for you? Are you trying to hear me go insane?"

"I don't want you to go insane. I just want you to play a song. Can't we work this out?"

"Yeah. You can ask me to play a song that I can actually play as opposed to calling almost every night to ask me the same stupid request." I reply.

"Fine. I want you to play 'I Want it All.'" He says.

"Wait. Are you talking about the High School Musical song or the Queen song?" I ask. He's silent for the longest time. I feel the flame of victory rising in my chest. Have I actually beat him at his own game? Did he finally slip up?

"You win this one, Dj…" His voice drifts off.

"Aelin. After all the weeks of calling this station I'm surprised you don't know that." I reply. "What's yours?" I ask.

"Rowan." Is all he says before the line beeps.

I tap my fingers on the desk, then change his name on caller ID. Better than Jackass High School Musical Freak. I take a slow, satisfied breath and play 'I Want it All' by Queen.

"Can you play 'Bop to the Top'?"

I sigh, "Look, we're a classic rock station. We play classic rock. We do not have any High School Musical songs." This was the third separate caller tonight, Rowan not being one of them oddly enough. In fact, I hadn't heard from him in about two weeks. In my little heart of hearts, I kind of missed him. As if by magic, the phone rings. I'm prepared to ignore it but I see the caller ID: Rowan. My nostalgia evolves into unbridled rage in the span of a few short seconds. I pick up and switch it to a private line while I put the Scorpions, Black Sabbath, and Johnny Cash playlist on.

"You piece of formulaic pop music!" I say immediately.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" He asks.

"Another way of saying 'crap' around here. Do you know how many people have been calling me, asking-no- _begging_ that I play High School Musical?!" I ask. He breaks down into laughter before I finish the sentence. His laugh is deep and easy, almost infectious. "You think this is a joke?!" I ask.

"No. But who'd of ever thought that we'd both be here tonight?" He asks.

"Cute. More lyrics. Don't you have a girlfriend you can bother with this?"

Rowan's quiet for so long I actually check to see if he's still on. "Not any more," he finally says.

Well don't I feel like a dick? "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'd like to think I'm over her and what she's done." He says.

I bury my face in my palm. "Did you lie to me so you could set that up?"

"No," He replies.

Great. I change the subject. "How do you know all of these lyrics?"

"A better question would be how do _you_ know all of these lyrics?" He asks.

I don't want to tell him that after the first few nights I'd watched all of the High School Musical movies so he couldn't get a joke past me. But I also don't want to lie to a guy who just lost his girlfriend.

But he'd also managed to make my night job a living hell.

"That's not important."

"Sure it is. You can't just keep these kinds of things to yourself," he coaxed. I'm debating whether or not to hang up when he says, "We're all in this together, Aelin."

I can only sigh. "I like to keep stuff to myself, so you'll have to get over not knowing. Besides, you were the one who started this."

He snorts. "Well, Zac Efron and his Oscar-worthy acting ability are hard to resist."

"Well, sure. That's obvious. Anyone would love a good lip-sync," I reply sarcastically.

"How dare you accuse the infallible Zac Efron and his heaven sent vocal chords of lip syncing." He says with mock offense. "But to be perfectly honest, my little sister used to love the movies. I had to sit through each one of them no less than fifty times."

"You couldn't just leave the room?" I ask.

"You try telling an eight year old with doe eyes 'no'." He says. "Anyway, I'm usually more of a Ridley Scott fan."

"Who?" I ask. He gasps as though I've spat on his newborn child.

"Ridley Scott! The man behind Alien, Blade Runner, and The Man in the High Castle, how could you not know him?!" He exclaims.

"I'm sitting in a radio station as my night shift job calling you a piece of formulaic pop. It's probably a safe bet I'm not that into movies." I reply.

"That reminds me, am I distracting you from your job? Won't you boss be mad that you're slacking off?" He asks.

"My boss left three hours ago. Told me where the shotgun was and to make sure I played Hotel California at least once."

"Sounds like you've got it pretty easy."

"I did until you started calling."

"Sounds like you miss the nights 'When There Was Me And You'."

"I will hang up this phone so fast your head will spin," I threaten.

"Does that mean you want to keep talking to me?" He asks. I can't tell if he's sarcastic or genuinely curious. I want to punch him in the face either way.

"If you quit it with the lyrics, yeah."

"Tough choice. On the one hand… High School Musical. On the other hand… it feels so right to be with you."

"That's it. I'm done."

"You're not even going to ask for my request? For old time's sake?" He asks.

I sigh and ask, "Do you have a request?"

"Everyday." He says with smugness in his tone.

"Sure, I'll play Everyday by Buddy Holly. I'll even dedicate it to you." I say, unable to contain my smile.

"Oh, you are evil."

"And you aren't just as bad?" I ask with a laugh.

He chuckles on the other line and I feel a comfort come over me… Maybe this could be the start of something new?

Oh. My. God. It's spreading.


	2. Now it's a Thing

Unlike when I'd started this job I now had textbooks spread all around me and no fewer than three cups of hot coffee within arms reach. The sound booth had become my bedroom, with a neatly folded blanket and pillow in front of one of the filing cabinets for the nights when I couldn't drag myself back to the dorm room or the caffeine crash hit me harder than an eighteen wheeler. A little voice in my head- probably the last shred of reason I had- virtually screamed at me that I could get more than four hours of sleep if A) I just quit this job, and B) If I stopped talking to Rowan.

At the thought of the annoying caller's name, or perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of caffeine I've ingested, my hands began to shake. Which was very bad considering I was trying to accurately draw the human body and ended up with something that looked like a seismograph on crack had attempted to make an abstract piece. I balled it up with a low growl, beginning a new sheet when the phone began to ring. Without checking the caller I.D. I said, "Rock Radio, we play only the classics." After a night I wasn't working when my boss had gotten a tidal wave of requests for High School Musical Songs, he specifically requested that I stress this part of our title to dissuade people from asking.

Naturally it didn't work.

"You sound cheerful." Rowan's voice is like the time I drank 17 ten hour energy shots working on a late night, last minute essay. My body feels entirely too hot, my heart is pounding at a rate that would make a hummingbird concerned, and I've begun to question all of my life choices. I put the blame down on lack of sleep, overstimulation of the senses, and possible finals-induced madness.

"Oh. It's you," I say. "I was beginning to think you'd just disappeared off the face of the earth."

"Aelin, I'm a disappearing act done poorly. But we both know that if I ever got it right, you'd miss me sorely," Rowan replies.

"What?" I had foolishly asked. I could practically feel the shift in the universe and the grin on Rowan's cheeks. That was it. He had something over me, and I had thrown open the door to a new, personal hell.

"You don't know any Panic? My sister's going to love this."

"Rowan, I'd really rather not lose this job over threatening an eight-year-old on air. So, how about you be mature for five seconds and we kill this before it becomes a thing that gets me even less sleep?" I ask.

"Hm...I think we can come to an arrangement," Rowan said.

"Okay. What?"

"Play 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies'," He said.

My eye twitches. So do my forearms. Never in the last few seconds has a window looked more breakable with a swivel chair. I let my head fall forward, banging it against the creased center of my Abnormal Psychology textbook. It feels so relaxing, I do it three more times. When my forehead is properly stinging and the thoughts of violence are washed away, I bring the phone to my mouth to mutter, "For the thousandth time, this is a rock station. Not alternative, not pop, only rock."

"So how about a different deal?"

"What?" I ask.

"How about you take a night off, I take you out to dinner, and word that you don't know any Panic! At The Disco songs doesn't miraculously spread around campus and make you miserable?" Rowan offers innocently.

So innocently my head snaps up at attention. Aelin was not anyone's fool. I know I will chastise myself later for ever referring to myself in the third person. Not only was it silly-like some Bond villain, it also didn't match the format of how I usually saw things. But those were thoughts for another time. I asked,"You know this is my job, right?"

"And you've earned some vacation time. I was just throwing the dinner thing out there, but you could totally blow me off. Just as long as you get some sleep."

"Since when do you care about my R.E.M. cycle?"

"Since I'm kind of the one who messed it up?" He asked sheepishly. I lean back in my seat, mulling the prospect of sleep over like some mythical creature.

"So where would we go?"

"What do you mean?"

"To eat," I say, enunciating each word. Some would take it as a mockery of their intelligence, and rightfully so. Rowan, who seemed to subsist on every insult I threw at him, only laughed. It was annoying in the worst way possible.

"Well, what do you like?"

"The usual palate of every starving college student. Pizza, cheap noodles, and coffee," I reply.

Rowan snorts,"Such a high bar. How will I ever be able to top it?"

"You know, blowing you off and sleeping all day is beginning to sound reasonable," I say.

"Okay, but then you miss out on my amazing company," Rowan said. I can't hold back the laughter that shakes me for a solid five minutes. When I get back to the phone, I can barely breathe, and I'm fairly certain Rowan has hung up. I'm surprised when he asks, "Enjoying yourself?"

"Rowan, I didn't know you had a genuine joke in you," I reply.

"Well, I'm full of surprises. Something you'll find out if you agree to dinner."

"Okay," I said.

"But before you refuse I-wait, just like that? No complaints or concerns about me being a serial killer about to seduce you to your imminent demise?" He asks.

I shrug and say, "Not really. I'm never one to turn down free food and I could probably hurt you worse than you could ever hurt me."

"Wai-"

"I'll get tomorrow off. I'll meet you at the library on campus around five a.m.," I said as I hung up. I had work to do, and talking to Rowan never failed to whittle away more time than I intended it to. Still, there was that blossoming of warmth at the thought of free food. And a date. But mostly the food, I told myself.

I find that it's weird being outside. I stand with my back against the brick wall of the library, the warmth of the distant rising sun on my skin like something alien. I was so used to the darkness of the sound booth, the controlled light and heat of my classes, the dark and cool air of the night, that I've forgotten what the day feels like. I realize I need to get out more. I cross my arms, feeling the slight bulge of the knife I wear under my clothes bump against my fingers. It's one of the three I have on me for today.

I check the time: 4:59. When I look up, I can see a person walking up to the library. He's tall, I can see that much from a distance, with long, silver hair that starkly contrasts with his sun-kissed skin and the all black clothing he's chosen to dress in. When he comes closer, I can see his ears are slightly pointed at the tips, and that one on his muscle ridden arms has an intricate tattoo that surrounds it, climbing up his throat and one side of his face.

He yawns, running a hand through his hair as he leans on the wall beside me, like he hasn't noticed me at all. "Are you waiting for something?" I ask.

Eyes that are a shade of green I couldn't have imagined look over to me, then straight ahead.

"Yeah," He yawns again, "A girl who only knows classic rock music. Has a snarky attitude. You know anyone like that?"

"No, but I'll be on the lookout. Do you know what she looks like?" I ask.

"Not really. I call her all the time but we're supposed to be meeting for dinner. Breakfast? I don't know. She's got the weirdest schedule. It's almost as weird as her obsession with music."

"You don't seem like you could talk about 'weird'. I mean, a sleeve and a face tattoo? Why don't you walk around with a sign around your throat that says, 'Please don't hire'?" I scoff.

Rowan looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Kind of like that. Aelin?" He asks.

"Well you're a quick one, aren't you?" I reply.

His lips quirk into the crooked, cocky smile I'd imagined they would. He holds out a hand and says, "Rowan Whitethorn."

I take it and reply, "Aelin Ashryver." His hands are strong and calloused. I don't let the thought of it linger and drop my own hand quickly.

He holds out the box he'd carried. "For you," He says.

I take it and frown. It's the box set, the director's cut of the entire High School Musical movie collection. I look down at it, then up at Rowan. "I hope you realize I'm throwing this in the garbage the first opportunity I get."

He grinned, one that showed off his teeth-especially his slightly sharper than average looking incisors. "That's okay," He promises, his voice a purr, "I had my eye on a better set for you, anyway."

For once, I found myself incapable of responding. That feeling quickly passed when I replied, "I will literally break into your house and spraypaint the lyrics of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' on every surface I come across if you do that."

"Then keep the gift," Rowan said. "We should get going to...Breakfast? Dinner? Dinfast? Brinner?"

I smile, "It's dinner for me because this is usually around the time I'm out of the sound booth and ready to collapse in my dorm room."

"And you've been doing this for months?" Rowan asked.

"Pretty much. Ever since people started hanging out outside the studio asking about High School Musical, I've had to either sleep on the ground or sneak out the back door. "

"So I guess the only real question is: Where will you be waking up tomorrow morning?"

"In my dorm?" I ask.

"I should have seen that one coming," He sighed.

We end up at an IHOPE, the only restaurant on campus that offers unlimited strawberry crepes for 6.99, a deal I'm happy to take advantage of. Rowan orders a simple Belgian Waffle with a side of bacon that I know I'm going to end up taking if he isn't observant. When I've finished wolfing down my third plate of crepes, Rowan is watching me with amusement. I clear my throat and take a few drinks of my water.

"So...why a classic rock radio station?" Rowan asks.

"Well, ever since I was a young girl, dreaming about kingdoms of ash, I've thought, 'Gee, I would love to be a DJ at some dead-end radio station when I grow up!'," I shrug, "I like the music and it pays well enough. But what about you? Do you even have a music taste that revolves around a particular genre? Or does your sister decide it all for you?" I ask.

"The songs on the radio are okay, but my taste in music is your face," Rowan says with a wink. When he sees that I don't understand, he sighs. "Twenty One Pilots."

"Oh. That sounds familiar," I admit. Hope lights up Rowan's face but is shut down as soon as I say, "But I don't listen to that stuff."

"Do you just wrap yourself up in a cocoon of Metallica and despise anything new?" Rowan asks.

"Actually, I prefer Black Sabbath, and neither of those bands are classic rock, despite that I play them on the station," I say before returning to my fresh plate of crepes. Rowan finishes his food before trying to bridge conversation again. "So what are you studying?"

"Music Theory," I replied shortly. A part of me realizes that I should probably be nicer to Rowan, he is, after all, buying me food. As nice as it has been talking to him, I see him and realize what he is. A threat. Someone I could get close to and get hurt by. Again.

"You know, you aren't exactly what I expected," Rowan said.

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Some pale, moody girl with a lot of flannel and matching emotional baggage," Rowan shrugged.

"I'm afraid I have to disappoint you-flannel doesn't go with anything I own," I say dryly.

"Well, if it's any comfort, you've got the moody part down pat," Rowan said.

"If you'd stayed up for the last twelve hours doing school work, actual work, and a workout, you wouldn't be so chipper, either," I say.

"You really do all of that?" Rowan asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "What do you do?" I ask.

"Erm...mostly odd jobs, really. Whatever anyone's willing to pay for."

"What do you want to do?"

"Art. Specifically tattooing."

"Wow...I never would have guessed," I say in the most monotone voice I can manage as I look at the tattoo that stretches over his body. Where did he even find the time to get it? He smiled and said, "I know it's a pretty obvious interest of mine, but I've always wanted to go into it. Tattooing is one of the few things I'm passionate about." I begin to dig into my last crepe while he looks at me thoughtfully and says, "Some ink would look great on you." It takes all of my willpower not to choke. Like Lysandra would say, smooth like crunchy peanut butter. My phone gives three sharp chirps, alerting me that my friend Nehemia had texted me. I check my phone quickly, seeing that she wants to see me in the gym, taking note of the fact that she mentioned Aedion was stopping by.

"I've gotta run," I say abruptly. Rowan looks confused, and it tears at what little is left of my blackened heart. "This isn't me trying to ditch you or anything, it's just, my cousin-" I'm flustered, and my inability to form a single coherent sentence showed as much.

Rowan smiles and says, "It's fine. I understand. I'll give you a call sometime?" At this his eyebrows wiggle in a villainous way. I throw a couple of bills on the table to pay for my meal and head out, glad the cold air of the early morning is cooling the sudden rise of heat in my cheeks.


	3. And Now The Update

I hop a few fences to reach the gym across the campus, but I'm there within five minutes of receiving the text. Nehemia is waiting outside for me, dressed in a loose white blouse that contrasted well against her dark skin, her braids pulled back from her shoulders to reveal the golden necklace and earrings she always wore. No one would've been able to guess from her studious air and cool manner that she was actually a metalhead. It was one of the few things I'd judged correctly about her when we first met.

Her workout duffel bag is next to her on the stairs; she has on her reading glasses as her eyes flick over each page of her beaten copy of The Prince quickly, until she noticed me. She carefully placed her favorite bookmark on the page-I can recall her telling me several times how she disdained the 'barbaric' act of dog earring pages-and looks up at me.

"Five minutes? That's a little on the slow side for you," She emphasized the comment with the deliberate folding of her glasses like some strict teacher catching her student late to class. Which wasn't all that far off, honestly.

"I was getting breakfast at IHOPE," I answer.

"Stranger still, considering you don't normally go to IHOPE."

"I do to go to IHOPE."

"Not when you're as broke as you claim to be," Nehemia smiled.

"Since when do you stalk my breakfast habits?" I ask with a yawn.

"Not stalking so much as taking note of. Aedion will likely notice it, too."

"You're giving him far too much credit."

"And there's my lovely cousin, trash talking me behind my back while I slave to find her a source of income," Aedion says. He wears a new outfit courtesy of some brand I've either never heard of or don't have the money to care about. I imagine such things are the perks of being a successful model, and if he were anyone else I would've avoided him like the plague for that reason among others. And maybe in a small part because he liked Pop/ New Age Rock music. He keeps at arm's length from me, greeting me with a smile before jumping to business.

"I've gotten the details of the next fight."

I can feel my knuckles tingle at the prospect of a fight and the money I'd earn from it. I try not to let hope creep into my voice as I ask, "So is it...you know?"

"It's an amatuer night," Aedion says with a knowing smile. I pump a fist into the air, burying the urge to do an embarrassing dance in front of my friends. Amatuer night at the cage matches Aedion booked me-or, rather, Celaena- for meant inexperienced punching bags and a higher amount of cash. Since the cage matches weren't all that 'legal' it just meant even more money in my pocket when I wiped out the competition.

Yes, I was a cage fighter, but you do what you have to to make money, right? The fights weren't consistent, but they were a good source of money and the one other thing-apart from music-that I was genuinely decent at. After the last one had been broken up by the campus police, the organizers decided to put the matches somewhere off campus. That had been almost five months ago. Since then, I'd barely been surviving off of my earnings as a nocturnal DJ. Needless to say, the fighting would be a welcome break in an otherwise boring routine.

But one thing still bothered me.

"Couldn't you have told me over the phone?" I asked Aedion.

"Sure, but Nehemia wanted to practice with you to loosen you up for tonight. You do have the night off?"

"I think I can swing it. Erwin will be pretty against it, though."

"It'll be fine. I also want to warn you that there are rumors that the Skin Walkers might be at the match tonight. Supposedly they're peddling along some new fighter, hoping to turn this into a new stream of investment," Aedion says it looking at his nails, but the words are careful. He knows what they mean to me.

"I'll murder every one of them before I let them make a fraction of a penny," I growl, tasting copper on my tongue at the prospect of tangling with one of the Skin Walkers.

"That's not necessary. Celaena just needs to kick their butts, make it clear they aren't welcome," Aedion assures me.

"That potentially turns both Celaena and Aelin into targets, though," Nehemia interjects. "Much as I know you both would like to crowd out the Skin Walkers, it might be prudent to throw the fight, at least until you can ensure that they won't be a threat."

"I'd rather just roll with the punches," I say, slamming my clenched fist into an open palm.

"You did not just say that," Nehemia groaned.

"She has a point though. It wouldn't do well for us to just go and waste our lives on one night. If the Skin Walkers think they've got a real presence in the fighting scene, maybe we could use it to our advantage, possibly set a trap if necessary," Aedion said.

"I don't like it. This is more than a hobby to me. It's a second source of money!" I say. "I can't just go throwing fights for a plan that might not even work!"

"True. But we should also keep in mind all of this is based in rumor. The Skin Walkers might not even be there tonight. Maybe it's better to hold off on all the planning until we come to that point," Nehemia offered.

"Putting off a plan doesn't sound like you, Nehemia," I say.

"It wouldn't make sense to formulate one at this point-we've no idea how many we're dealing with or if they're organized. It's time wasted worrying over variables we've no control over."

"If you say so," I mutter.

"I'll go with you tonight to make sure that we're dealing with Skin Walkers. And to...you know, make sure you don't kill any of them if there are," Aedion volunteers.

"You don't think it would look weird that a model is in a fighting club?" Nehemia asked.

"Aedion has been there before."

"I've been there before," Aedion and I say it in unison. Nehemia raises an eyebrow, the only request for reasoning.

"There are a lot of cute guys there who don't read the magazines that feature me," Aedion says with a light shrug.

"He's also fought with me in doubles," I add. Aedion is a pretty proficient fighter on his own terms-having felt the need to get better at it when he started modelling and getting harassed by several frat boys.

"Of course he fights. Is the entirety of your family a bunch of adrenaline junkies or are you two just special?" Nehemia asks.

"Nehemia! You know how Aedion feels about being called 'special', no matter how accurate it is," I grin.

"That's it Aelin, keep living in your little fantasy world," Aedion sighed with an eye roll. "Lest reality overload your mind."

"Good, then we can get to working out," I say eagerly.

"Yes, you should keep your reflexes sharp," Nehemia says.

"Sharp, not battered. Lets try to go easy on our little cage fighter. The last thing we need is for her to actually lose tonight. Although it would probably do wonders for her humility…" Aedion said.

"Finish that thought and I'll beat you so hard you'll sound like the drum solo of YYZ," I threaten.

"Sadly I don't have time for obscure rock references. We have a match to prepare for," Aedion says as he heads towards the gym locker rooms to change.

"YYZ is not obscure!" I shout after him. When I face Nehemia, she gives me a wicked smile before leaving to do as Aedion did. I know that look. It was the equivalent of a tiger rolling its shoulders as it prepared to spring on unsuspecting prey. So much for 'sharp, not battered'.

I slam onto the ground with a solid thud of skin and sweat on padded mat. Nehimia's knee digs into my spine, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get the point across that if she'd pinned me this way in a real fight, I would've been screwed. I know this hold, and use most of my upper body strength to break the hold and kick her off of me. She steps away from me, barely breaking a sweat while I'm trying to keep my breaths steady. Although, to be fair, she wasn't fighting two people at once.

And speaking of 'us' I notice Aedion isn't within my line of sight. Which was very, very bad. As the thought occurs to me, Aedion is on my back, the sound of his footfalls covered by the Black Veil Brides song that blasts through the speakers of the room-one of Nehemia's favorite bands, though I constantly argued with her that they weren't metal. I run at Nehemia, using the momentum to tumble forward and slam both mine and Aedion's bodies into her.

The force is enough that Aedion loosens his grip on me. Breaking free again, I move away, my arms shaking. Nehemia walks away from me to the area where the water bottles are stationed to pause the music.

"Break," She calmly orders. Aedion climbs to his feet, stretching out in a way that makes his joints audibly pop. I take a seat by Nehemia, sipping at my water. This was the way we practiced for the fights. Two on one, the lucky one usually being me. Cage fights weren't always regulated, which meant I had fought more than one person at a time before. Even before that, in fights that were more like adrenaline fueled battle royales, I'd had to take on people with weapons.

"So who'd you meet at IHOPE?" She asked.

I know there's no use in arguing against Nehemia. What she doesn't automatically know she'll eventually deduce. So, naturally, she was horrible to watch movies with.

"A guy," I answer, hoping the brevity of it will make it clear I don't want to discuss it beyond that. My own feelings with Rowan were confusing enough. I wasn't about to get someone else's input to stir the pot.

"Okay," Nehemia says, catching the underlying message like I had hoped she would. "But for the record, I think it's good you're branching out."

"Branching out? You make me sound like some sort of sprouting tree," I huff.

"It's a compliment, Aelin. You spend entirely too much time preoccupied with music and your jobs. Even Aedion is starting to worry. And before you get all puffy about it, we're your friends and family. We have a right to worry about your wellbeing."

"I know. I can handle myself," I say.

Nehemia laughs, "Well, someone should be able to. What's he like?"

I wrinkle my nose; maybe the message didn't go through as clearly as I thought it had. She takes it as disgust.

"That bad?" She asks.

"No!" I say quickly, too quickly. Nehemia raises an eyebrow and I curse everything having to do with Rowan.

"He is...was fine. The whole thing was fine. It was just Brinner," Oh, God I'm even using his terms for it. I've sunk to a new low. My license to play classic rock should have been revoked. Nehemia doesn't laugh like I expect her to. She just gives me one of her slow smiles-which is roughly laughing for her.

"Just _fine_ , huh?" She asks.

I'm eager to change the subject, so I ask how her family is doing.

"My brothers are fine. From what Dad tells me, they've become quite the troublemakers since I left." I can understand that. Nehemia has a very calming presence. I couldn't remember what I'd acted like before we were friends, but that was also a time I preferred not to think about, anyway. We fell into an easy discussion about her classes, and how she had become disliked in her Criminal Justice Ethics class for extending it a whole extra hour because she had wanted to go in depth about the details of a particular case the professor had brought up. The other students had not stopped giving her glares for the remainder of the class or afterward.

"I don't blame them, I wouldn't like you much either if you cut into my naptime or my next class."

Nehemia blushed, a rare sign of embarrassment. "I didn't mean to and all of the students that were late were given passes."

"Still, I bet your professor won't make the mistake of calling on you again," I joke.

"What about your classes?" Nehemia asked.

"They're fine," I say. With my hectic schedule I was pulling high Bs and Cs, something I'm fairly certain Nehemia would've died of a heart attack of seeing were they her own grades. It probably didn't help that I was transcribing 'House of the Rising Sun' to accompany an entire orchestra with any free time I had instead of studying or sleeping. And now there was a whole Rowan-shaped wrench in the equation. I'd seen guys and girls fail classes because of a significant-hold on. I bring my thoughts to a screeching halt before they can drift in that direction. Rowan is some guy. That's it. A guy who was invading my spare thoughts when I had any kind of a free moment at an alarming rate. I make a mental note to work even harder on my grand orchestral rendition of the classic song.

"Do you really not have a plan for the Skin Walkers?" I ask, genuinely curious.

Nehemia snorts, "I already have three in the works, but like I said, no point in worrying about what might not be." And then I understand. She was talking about me. She didn't want me focused on them or planning the best way to burn down the fight club with all of their members in it. I could feel myself getting angry over the group all over again, and I didn't want the break to end early when Nehemia noticed, so I forced my thoughts to other things.

'Other things' happened to be Rowan. I found myself wondering if he was a fighter, like me. He had the muscle to do it. How much could he bench? How far could he run? Why did he have that god awful obsession with the worst kinds of music? Could he lift me? I blink rapidly and force Rowan out of my head. I needed to get him out of my system so I could focus. If the Skin Walkers came into power, Rowan would quickly be the least of my worries, anyway.

"Break's over," I say with new determination. Nehemia shrugs, she doesn't seem all that tired. Of course she isn't. She's not the one getting attacked by two people at the same time. But I never hold it against her or Aedion. I revel in the challenge, and it's all the sweeter when I beat them both if I manage to.

"Whatever you say. I'm going to go pull Aedion away from the poor girl he's decided to flirt with. I suggest you take advantage of the time to stretch." Sure enough, Aedion is talking to some sophomore with short black hair and pretty eyes. She's smiling at whatever he's saying to her, and doesn't seem uncomfortable with the way one of his arms is touching hers. I sigh. He could charm a blush out of a corpse if he had a chance.

I kind of envy his levity in any situation. I could only feel anxious and jittery for whatever came next.


	4. Coherent Chapter Titles Aren't My Thing

Stars flash across my vision as a fist crunches across my cheek. I can taste blood and heat as the force makes me lose my footing. It's only for a moment, though. I dance away as my opponent swings at me again. He's a large man, muscular, burly, but new to the cage. I spit blood on the ground as the crowd screams at me-a roar of noise that blends to nothing as I focus on his shoulders.

"Come on, big boy, I know you've got to have more in you than that," I smirk. He probably can't hear me, but the threat carries through anyway. I see it in the change in his demeanor. He moves at me, eager to end the fight. He's big, but he thinks size alone will win. He's wrong. I move slightly to the left, and he takes the bait, making a wide hook that I easily duck under.

I get behind him and jump on his back, wrapping my arms around his throat and tightening my hold. He thrashes against my chokehold and I progressively tighten, a grin spreading across my face as his thrashing lessens and lessens. He can't breathe, and he will die if he doesn't tap out or pass out. I kick the back of his knee, hard enough that he moves to the ground.

"Give up while you're still awake," I order.

He doesn't listen.

He tries to fling himself backward to slam me on the ground, I release my hold a split second before I would've hit, swinging round to his front to punch over and over again. My knuckles burn with each hard slap against skin, sweat, and bone, coaxing blood from new wounds. Every inhale is like fire in my lungs, spreading through me. I don't stop till his eyes are closed and his face is a black and blue pulp.

It takes restraint to stop, especially when a fight has been as intense as this one. I move away from his body, dropping my fists to my sides, clench and unclench. I have to focus on slowing my breaths bring myself back from the edge. The referee- a pointless title as she doesn't actually do much- comes next to me. She doesn't touch me- she knows better when I'm fresh from a fight- and announces, "The winner is Celaena!"

I spit another stream of red as I lift a wrapped fist in victory. The adrenaline is fading, and I'm ready to take a shower pass out. But that's not an option. It's fight night, and the new members are eager to earn some money. The roar of the crowd, some curses, some thanks, are like the most blissful white noise I've ever listened to, apart from Pink Floyd. It almost makes the bruises blossoming on my body worth it. What pushes it over the edge is the reward, the wad of cash I know I'll get when it's all over. I leave the cage while they clean up and prep the next fighter to talk to Aedion.

He's at the bar, flirting with some twenty year old guy who's probably one of the new fighters, judging from his build and the clean, crisp wraps on his hands. Aedion is as usual, dressed like he should be walking down a runway rather than holed up in some fight club, watching grown men and women struggle to make money. Not that the outfit is much of a deterrent for the fighter. He's smiling at Aedion, touching his arm, and to all outside appearances, it's going well. So, naturally, I can't let it grow into anything more.

"Cousin!" I exclaim, my tone sickly sweet as I drape my sweaty body over his nice, white jacket. Suits him right for wearing the color to a place like this.

The fighter looks between us, his smile faltering, before becoming strained. "You're-ahem-related?" He asks.

"Oh, yes. So related," I gushed. Aedion smiles at me in a way that says he wants to kill me. It's worth it. "I hope he hasn't been telling any embarrassing stories. You're one of the new fighters, right? Hope Aedion isn't too fond of that pretty nose," I say.

He nods once, wishing Aedion goodbye while he registers as one of the next fighters.

Aedion watches after him wistfully before turning to me with a frown. "There's a reason the people call you the 'Fire-Breathing Bitch Queen'."

"Oh? Would it be because of my warm yet regal personality?" I leaned against the bar and signalled for a glass of water"You know we don't associate with the enemy," I say as I take quick sips.

"You get way too into this thing," Aedion said, rolling his eyes as he ordered a glass of whiskey. "And if anything, you should be more careful with that face of yours. I heard you got a new boy toy." I really needed to stop talking to Nehemia. As close as we were, she was equally close with Aedion and Aedion was infamous for how persuasive he could be when he wasn't acting like...well...himself.

"Jealous?" I ask.

"No, sympathetic. I don't think he's aware of what he's gotten himself into," He gestures to the abandoned warehouse the cage fight is being hosted in tonight.

I crack my knuckles and neck, sighing with relief.

"Charming," Aedion mutters before taking another sip of his own drink. "So, is he going to be a distraction?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"I don't need you to end up with cracked ribs or another concussion because of some guy," Aedion replied.

"He won't be," I promise quickly, eager to change the subject.

"See any threats?" I ask.

"There was one, but I lost sight of him once the crowd went wild over you smashing that other man's face in."

"What did he look like?"  
"A broody thug with a face tattoo. Cute though."

I shrug it off, remarking, "He'll go down like the rest of them. In a bloody, unconscious heap at my feet."

"Try to ease up on the blood, it's difficult to get out of whites," Aedion says as he looks at the spots of red I've left on him from my little show.

"I would, but that would mean doing something to make you happy, and we can't have that now, can we?" I ask before my name is called and I have to return to the cage. The sweat has cooled on my skin, and though there's a pounding in my head from the hits I've received already, I roll my shoulders, bounce on the balls of my feet, and focus. It's time to fight.

When my next opponent comes up the steps, I don't hear the sounds of the crowd. Everything is silent as I set my eyes on Rowan. He's dressed similarly to me-minus the sports bra, obviously-hand wraps, tight shorts, barefoot. I can see the scars that decorate his muscled body like mine do, and I feel a sudden rush of self consciousness like I've never known before. It's quickly replaced by anger.

"What in the name of the Beatles are you doing here?!" I hiss.

"I could ask you the same thing," He says with a cocky smile.

"This isn't a game, Rowan. I will hurt you," I say. On a normal basis this would be a statement of fact. I hurt people often and easily. Rowan wouldn't be any different.

He shrugged and smiled again. "Maybe," Was all he said.

Then the fight has started. Rowan takes up a stance that guards the sides of his head and is loose enough that he can block his chin. It's well practiced, but leaves his abs and chest open to anyone who's agile enough to take a quick shot.

I move in first, ever the aggressive one, and dance along the outside of his arm's length. His face is a mask, betraying no emotion or intent. I decide to test his impulse and reflex. I move into his hit zone, throwing a quick jab. He moves faster than I could've given him credit for, harshly smacking my hand away and delivering a kick to my ribs that sends me stumbling.

I grind my teeth against the pain in my side, struggle to regain my breath. He's calm, fast, and powerful. I can't play the long game, I've taken too many hits and I won't last against many more like that kick.

"You were saying something about hurting me?" Rowan asks. His voice is so husky and low in the taunt I can't decide if I want to kick his head off of his shoulders or kiss him. It seems to confuse me enough that he takes the window to close in, bringing his hands down slightly while he prepares a kick. Perfect.

I viciously uppercut him, delivering a swift two jabs to the right side of his face before he can recover. He loses his footing; I sweep a leg under him. He falls to the ground, and from there, I wrap my arms around his neck, going for another chokehold. I can almost hear Nehemia arguing against my use of the same move twice in a row, but I want this fight to end. I can feel his muscle deliciously strain against me, fingers curled with crushing force around my forearms in a desperate attempt to rend them apart. I squeeze just enough to let him know that I'm not ready to choke him, but I am able to if he doesn't listen.

"Give up or I will literally rip your throat out with my teeth," I say next to his ear.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," He grunts.

"Yeah! Panic! At The Disco!" Some random member of the audience exclaims.

"That guy gets it!" Rowan smirks. He elbows me in the spot he kicked before, the force sharp enough that my grip loosens fractionally. He breaks it, getting on his feet and elbowing me in the jaw before I can move away from him. Blood's in my mouth again, and Rowan is a wall of muscle that swallows my vision as he appears in front of me, picking me up and slamming me down against the marginally padded floor as gently as he can. It still hurts like hell. He twists me onto my stomach, pinning me down with a foot to my neck and both of my arms stretched backwards.

I knew this move- I'd done it many times. Hell, I'd had it done to me twice. If Rowan leaned back as he pulled, he could dislocate my shoulders, or at least cause a lot of pain. Either way wasn't pleasant. Rowan leans close to me and says, "Give up, Aelin."

I take a deep breath, waiting patiently for the blinding pain I was familiar with. Rowan drops my arms with a huff. "Stubborn," He says. I give the leg that isn't on me a kick with all the force I can muster. It renders him unsteady enough that I can climb to my feet and turn on him. He brings up his forearms, ducking his chin down as defense when I start to whale on him. I feel exhausted, but I'm not going to lose to Rowan of all people.

The next five minutes is a dance between us, a dance of swinging and missing. One of the more violent dances I've had to learn. I want to attack Rowan, but he ducks and dodges out of the way constantly. Even when I drop my guard he doesn't make a move to hit me again. And it's only when the ref calls a draw that I realize what his plan had been. He wasn't fighting me, because he wasn't going to try. The crowd gives a sharp cry of disappointment. I've only ever had one draw in my 'career', now two, thanks to Rowan. I glare at him as the ref declares that the fight is done and we'd be moving onto the next matchup.

I give Rowan a glare before angrily leaving the cage. I didn't know what he was doing here, and I didn't care. I head towards the bathroom that I keep my gear in, Aedion following me and locking the door behind us when we get into the cool, dark room.

"'We don't associate with the enemy,'huh?" He asked throwing my own words at me casually. Aedion was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He probably knew who Rowan was to me the moment he stepped in the cage.

I pace the width of the room like an animal, my skin buzzing with pent up energy and rage. "It's not a problem," I promise as I slam my open palm against the wall. I quickly regret it, because no matter how strong I am or how angry I become, concrete always beats hand. I let it fall to my side, ignoring the desire to shake it in hopes of stopping the hot tingling that was spreading over it.

"Aelin, maybe you should cut out early,"Aedion says.

"What?" I snap.

"Even with the draw you've earned a good night's work."

"No, I need to punch something-"

"And if you fight like this I'm ninety-nine percent sure you'll kill someone! We don't need that. Go back to your dorm, take some time to cool off. I'll tell you when and where the next batch of fights are and get you your prize money."

"What about the Skin Walkers?" I ask.

"I haven't seen any around-it looks like the whole thing might've just been a false flag. Go back to your dorm-sleep before you do something you'll regret."

He's right. A part of me can acknowledge it- I'm not so proud that I can't see where he's right and that I would absolutely kill someone. But as I move away from those thoughts, I realize for the fourth time this week that this and the radio show are the only ways I make money. The draw has decreased my payout significantly, and I need to make it up with at least one more fight. Aedion sees my argument before I can even make it.

"You aren't fighting for the rest of the night. Manager's orders," He says. I grimace and wordlessly began to unwrap my wraps and gather my things. Aedion says, "Look, if you need help with money, you can just ask me-"

"No. I can't. The only reason we're here doing this is because I don't ask people for money!" I hiss. "Just go," I say, a new kind of exhaustion sinking into my bones. Once my bag is all packed, I collect my pay and use the back door to get out. Rowan is waiting on the outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like it's some crappy noir flick.

"Good fight, though your footwork could stand for some improvement," He says with a smile, like he didn't just wipe the floor with me and cost me a payday.

"You got lucky," I huffed, moving faster. Rowan, damn his long legs, just lengthens his stride, easily moving beside me.

"You could slow down. I'm not in a rush, and it's such a nice night," Rowan says.

I stop, a thought occurring to me. "Why were you there in the first place?"

"To make some money," Rowan says it so convincingly I could almost buy his lie. Even if he was telling the truth, I would still be pissed. Where was my swivel chair when I needed it?

I stop and ask, "Could you just leave me alone?"

Rowan looks at me like a puppy being scolded for no reason and it would be the most adorable thing I'd ever seen if I didn't feel like punching him. More than I already had, anyway. "Why? Is it just about money?" He asks.

Yes. And No. Maybe. Nothing was ever straight in my mind around Rowan except for my growing emotional conflict towards him. And the novelty of that was wearing off very quickly. At first, I would admit, the fights had been about money and blowing off steam. But they'd quickly evolved into something more. I'd built a reputation as Celaena. One Rowan now threatened to send toppling down in addition to the possible Skin Walker threat. I realize that I haven't answered his question and am literally standing in place, staring at those green orbs again.

"Yes," I say. Without a second thought, Rowan extends his hand, holding his own money out with a straight face. I look down at it, back at him, and say, "No. I'm no one's charity case."

Rowan sighs. "It's not about that. Look, I don't want you to resent me just because we fought."

I sigh and throw up my hands. I'm punch drunk and he isn't understanding what I need him to. I head off towards my dorm room and shout over my shoulder, "Keep following me and I'll call campus security!" I swear I can feel him roll his eyes.

I get into my dorm room around seven. My roommate, Lysandra, is sitting on her own thin bed with her legs crossed, a massive textbook about business management across her lap, her younger sister Evangeline sitting on the floor, playing a game. She looks up at me, a smirk crossing her lips as she said, "My ghost of a roommate. And here I thought you couldn't get any uglier." She is, of course, referring to the forming bruise on my cheek and face.

"Aw, Lysandra, did you get shot down again?" I ask with as much mock pity as I can put into my voice. A bullshit claim. Even I can begrudgingly admit the brunette is one of the prettier girls on campus. Lysandra snorts. We both know that she never got rejected. Then again, perhaps the fact that she never asked anyone out aided in that. Asking her out was equally impossible-she'd shot down so many unsuspecting souls that I'd given her the title 'The Red Barron'. She marks her page to stand up and look at my face, gently touching each of the sore spots. "Were you hurt anywhere else?" She asks.

"Since when did the Business Major become a doctor?" I joke.

"When you decided that becoming a flesh punching bag was a reasonable alternative to taking out loans or applying for more scholarships. Now, were you hurt anywhere else? Did you get hit on the head extremely hard? How many of me are there"

Ignoring the fact that Rowan slammed me on the ground-which was simultaneously horrible and exciting for some reason-I answer,"Ever the mother goose. I'm fine. Some bruises on my back and throat, but I should be okay, one, I hope. And if anyone asks, I'll just say Evangeline did it," I say, ruffling the little girl's hair affectionately.

Lysandra smiles at me and says, "Yes, we all know how vicious my little sister can be. Which reminds me, I found you something." She moves to her bag and takes out a few CDs. Led Zeppelin, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, my eyes widen at them. "How did you get these?" I whisper.

"Not a big deal. I charmed some senior who was getting ready to throw them away. He's bringing by a box of them tomorrow for you, so...this is the part where you say thank you," Lysandra said, smugly.

"Thanks," I say. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Well, I was thinking about getting some ice cream," Lysandra says with a glance at Evangeline.

The small girl drops the game to wrap around her leg and say, "I wanna go with."

Evangeline is like Lysandra in the way that she doesn't ask, she demands, and usually gets what she wants. Especially if Lysandra has any say in it. While I would've loved ice cream normally, my body was screaming at me to lay down, at least for a minute.

Lysandra understands and says, "You can come next time. Let's go, Evangeline."

She doesn't need to say as much, the little girl is up and moving before her name tumbles out of Lysandra's mouth. The last few things she gets are her beanie and scarf, the items sending a pinch in my chest when I watch her carefully put them on to cover the scars on her cheeks. Lysandra had told me that Evangeline had been in a car accident when she was younger-one that had given her the deep whisker-like scars on her cheeks. It had been a point of mockery among some of the younger kids, and from what I'd seen, Evangeline was still hesitant to go anywhere near a car. She waits by the door for Lysandra, twitching with excitement and impatience.

" We'll be back in a few. Try not to pass out or die," Lysandra said.

I pass her ten bucks for the ice cream as I roll my eyes. "I'll do my best," I vaguely promise.

With the excited little girl and her companion gone I make for the community shower, moving fast and turning the water as hot as it'll go. It's a good day for the shower because it actually gets past lukewarm temperature, the steam easily washing away any tension from my battered body. My thoughts are sluggish, and I barely have the decency to pull on a decent pair of clothes before doing exactly as I had predicted I would do earlier-namely, passing out the second I hit my mattress.


End file.
